Somnium
by lovelielove
Summary: She'd been having strange dreams off and on for 3 months. Most of them were flashes of sensory details - the scent of leather and exhaust, the piercing sound of sirens and the low rumble of an engine, the comfortable feel of a large gun in her hands or the taste of blood in her mouth... However, this dream, by far, was the strangest.
1. Chapter 1

**Somnium**

Chapter 1 - Ex Lege

Mega City One Winter 2102 (January)

Starlight, as always, was blocked out by the bright lights and pollution of the city. On a quiet street between two mega blocks, one streetlight was out, bulb shattered on the concrete below. The front door to a street level apartment swung in toward a crime scene. Cold winter air blew through its threshold and into the shattered living room and kitchen.

"Control. Requesting paramedics to my GPS in Sector 19, multiple wounded, three bodies for resyk, and one for the cubes."

"Copy that, Anderson. Meat Wagon en route to you."

The helmet-less Judge drew a deep breath as the implications of her latest firefight caught up to her. A little boy crouched beside the body of his mother trying to shake her awake. Nearby, two of the three would-be-robbers responsible for the murder lay sprawled across the grimy linoleum of the family's kitchen floor. The eldest son lay crumpled unconscious outside near the door, having tried to stop the perps himself with sheer will. The father had dragged himself up against the fridge, badly beaten, trying to keep breathing in air to his burning lungs, unable to comfort his youngest as tears and helplessness leaked from him in waves.

Another motherless child. Another family torn apart by a senseless crime. She'd done her part. The perps were executed or arrested. There was nothing left for her to do. Her walls were up, but she could still feel the terrible grief and shock from the surviving family. The boy was openly begging his mother to wake up now, bargaining, promising to be good if she just opened her eyes. Anderson made a move to leave the shot up hovel of an apartment and escape the barrage of emotion.

"Judge, I-" the father grunted. "There's someth-"

"Don't speak." Anderson looked down at the man, hiding her pity.

"I gotta tell-"

"You're badly wounded, citizen. Rest. Help is on the way."

"No! You gotta be- be careful. There's- there's a man. He's the one who targeted m-my wife! He's powerful a-and dangerous. He's-"

The one robber caught alive and cuffed shouted out, "Shut up, man! You want us all to die?!" Panic and fear colored his voice burnt orange. The only reason the perp wasn't executed by her hand was because she had seen him throw himself in front of the youngest son when his cohorts drew their guns on the five-year old to silence his pitiful cries for his mother. "You talk about him out loud and you're gonna drop dead before the week is out!" He whispered furiously at his victim as if someone else was listening in. "You know what happens to people who snitch!"

Anderson eyed the two men suspiciously when the father hesitated and grew silent. Interesting. Maybe this wasn't just a routine armed robbery and murder like she thought. "Withholding information about criminal activity is worth 5 years in an isocube. I suggest you divulge your information, citizen," she said calmly to the victim. "You, too," she addressed her captive, "or you'll be handed to interrogation."

"I- I-" the father began to speak but was cut off by involuntary hacking coughs that wracked his body.

She turned to the perp who blanched at the look in her eyes. "I don't know hardly anything. I swear!" She caught the thought of his faceless and nameless employer and she decided to delve a little deeper. In the year since being on active street duty, she'd found that physical contact was the quickest way into a person's mind.

"Lady?" a little hand tugging at her sleeve stopped her in the middle of leaning over to drag the perp up by his collar. "Lady Judge?"

"Yes?"

"You got the bad guys right?"

She almost cried. Kids. They were always her weakness. "Yah. They're taken care of."

"Even the Bad Man?" the boy whispered fearfully, dark eyes wide.

The live perp groaned. "Shut up, kid!"

"The Bad Man? Is he one of these guys?" She gestured to the two dead and the one cuffed.

The boy shook his head, brown curls flying. "You never see him before he gets you. That's what mommy says. He controls it all. He sees you when you're sleeping and when you're awake and he knows if you've been bad." His voice had taken on a hollow quality that told Anderson he was repeating something he'd overheard. "He's only a shadow. But he waits in the dark corners and grabs you and steals away everything you love. He steals the shiniest lives and collects them in a jar to watch them fade. The Bad Man got my mommy."

A chill ran up her spine the likes of which she hadn't felt since hearing Ma-Ma's voice, cold and clear, in Peach Trees' atrium, the leader's voice calling the entire clan to arms against her. The boy's words were strange for a five or six year old, but the complete terror that gripped him and the absolute belief that the Bad Man killed his mommy was what shook Anderson.

The sirens of the approaching paramedics broke her away from the thrall of the boy's story. And she reached out two fingers to touch the cuffed perp's mind. She rifled through his scattered thoughts and found the place of his memories. Quickly scanning the surface, she found every connection and feeling and fact related to "the Bad Man" and pulled them into her own mind while letting go of the perp.

"What was that?"he gasped like he had been running for hours.

"You seem sick. Just checking your temperature. Wouldn't want you to spread any kind of infection to the medics," she lied through her teeth just as they came through the door, one stopping to check the older boy outside.

"Whoever else may have hurt your family will face justice," she told the boy quietly and walked away from the scene to her Lawmaster parked on the street. She still had 6 hours left on her patrol.

It was 9 hours later before she got back to the Hall of Justice. Anderson cleaned herself up, grabbed a tray of nutrition packed almost-toast, protein scramble and a cup of sim-caff from the mess and brought it back to her desk 19 floors up. Only three other Judges sat at their desks, engrossed in the never-ending paper work. The rest of the newly formed Psi-Division were out on assignments or street patrol.

Her food devoured quickly and efficiently, Anderson savored her hot drink. She actually preferred her sim-caff with three portions of sweetener, but the smell of it black, the bitter burn of it on her tongue soothed her frazzled nerves and settled a sense of something like home around her like a cloak. Her father used to drink the stuff every morning, grabbing a cup while walking her to school.

One of her fellow Psi-Judges also returning from patrol dropped his helmet heavily onto his nearby desk, startling her into almost spilling her drink. "Uh. Sorry," he said, light embarrassment swirling like smoke around his edges.

She laughed. "Don't worry about it, Bender. You woke me up at least. Damn paperwork," she gazed at her empty computer screen balefully, while opening a new report file.

"Ugh. Worst part of the job sometimes."

"Yah, sometimes."

"Hey, Anderson," another Judge greeted her as she walked through the doors. "Bender."

"What's the news, Michem? Are you getting transferred to 12's sector house?" Bender asked.

Michem was short for a Judge, barely hitting 5'1" with her boots on. She had a unique psychic ability- pathokenisis. She could manipulate the emotions of others. Michem ruffled her short black hair. Anderson knew that it had taken her a long time to gain a grip on her power. Michem's emotions used to spill into everyone's heads until Anderson helped her build up some walls in her mind.

"Nah. They need me here at the Hall." She grinned at them. "What the hell would they have me doing in 12 that I couldn't do housed here?"

"I don't know, Mich. Could be they need you for undercover," Bender replied. He was as tall as Michem was short. Nearly 6'6" and skinny as a straw. His psi-ability was pyrokenesis. He looked like he couldn't hurt a fly, but he had trained just as hard as the other Judges, if not harder, to be able to control his power and channel it to uphold the law.

"Please," Michem scoffed. "I'm worse at lying than Anderson."

"Hey. I resent that," she replied good naturedly.

"No you don't. See? Terrible liar."

She stuck her tongue out at Michem, then sighed. "I better get back to it. Thirty hour shifts are not my friend."

"Okay. Hey," Michem said. "I wanted to see that new movie this weekend- The Child. Wanna go with?"

Anderson smiled. "Sure."

"Call me!"

Anderson got to work. She became lost in telling the story of her patrol: The continued investigation into possible human trafficking and prostitution at the edge of Sectors 19 and 20, the 2 executed perps and 36 for the cubes, 13 resyked victims, and 15 witness and victim statements needing to be uploaded to different points to Central's data base and the Hall's records, and the sad ending to that poor family.

She added the details about what the little boy had said, his affect, and general age. "Bad Man," she typed as a possible pseudonym for the perps' boss. As she did, another chill ran across her shoulders. She glanced behind her, almost expecting a threat.

In the doorway stood Judge Dredd, formidable as ever in full street gear. She saw his familiar stubbly chin and deep frown and she immediately relaxed. "Judge Anderson," he nodded at her and gestured his chin back toward the hallway as if to say, 'I want to talk to you, but out there.'

So, she saved her progress and got up to follow Dredd. "You busy tonight?" he asked, voice rumbling low.

The question caught her off guard, sounding almost like a build up to asking a girl out, which would be completely out of character as fraternization between Judges (or anyone else for that matter) was illegal. She was almost offended, but she answered honestly, "Nothing planned." She didn't ask why like she wanted to and instead gazed steadily at him until he elaborated.

"Orders are for me to lead the raid tonight on the S19 and 20 human trafficking and prostitution. There's probably some kind of narcotics involved too."

Ah, that made sense. Either he wanted her on his team or wanted her information. Sometimes Anderson thought that he sometimes didn't speak to test her. To see if she was sneaking a peek into his thoughts. She never had. So, when he remained silent, she kept (what she hoped was) eye contact with his helmet visor and waited. She'd known him for a little over a year now, even worked on a few missions together. And while he generally shared vital information when needed, say, for example, in the middle of armed combat, it seemed to her that he needed to adjust his communication skills just a little bit toward communicating.

His continued silence was greeted with a small smirk and quirk of her eyebrows. "Just because I'm psychic doesn't mean that I read your mind, sir."

At that, his frown almost vanished as his lips twitched upward. The transparent blue strings of friendship, camaraderie, and affection snaked slowly from him toward her, as if reluctant to be given out. "Better not be in my head, Anderson," he practically growled, only half serious.

"Then you'd better tell me what you need me for, Dredd," she tried mimicking his badass tone, but wound up coughing in the end. A fiery blush spread across her face and neck.

For a moment, just a flash really, an actual smile stretched beneath Dredd's visor. It vanished quickly, but she still smiled and said,"Don't laugh. I don't know how you talk like that everyday without damaging your throat." She coughed involuntarily and Dredd's mouth twitched again. "What did you need to tonight? Psi support? My report?"

He shook his head and said, "You're my team, Anderson."

Honestly, she'd expected to be part of the team, but the way he worded it... "Just you and I, sir?"

"Unless you're busy."

"No! I mean, of course. I mean, thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet. Meet me at level 13 to plan at 1700. We'll be at the edge of Sector 19 by 2100."

"Yes, sir."

"In the meantime, send what you've got on your report from last night to my comm."

"I'll do that right now. Do you want something to drink?" she asked, immediately leading him back through her office doors. He grunted a negative. Michem was still there -'d five more people had returned while she had been engrossed in her report, but Bender the other three of her fellow Psi Judges present earlier were gone. Eyes followed Dredd and her up the narrow walkway to her desk. "What's your new comm number again?" she asked.

He told her as she punched a few digits into the keypad.

"Ok. You should have received it."

At that moment the comm on his arm lit up, her report for last night's patrol on display. "Save that number." He glanced at the start of the report. "13. 1700," he reminded as he stood and walked out of the room. The door shut silently behind him.

Immediately a clamor went up. "Holy shit. Was that Judge Dredd?" "What's he doing up here, Anderson?" "Have you worked with him before?" "How the hell do you know Dredd?"

She tried to fight it, really she did, but that little spark of pride burst into a tiny little flame. _The_ Judge Dredd personally asked _her,_ Cassandra Anderson, one year out from nearly failing her field assessment, to be his partner on a job. She basked for just a moment in her colleagues' envy and wonder, but then, shaking off the conceit, said in a casual tone, "Yes, that was Judge Dredd. He was up here to get some information from me. And he was my field assessment Judge." She muttered the last part.

However, Fendley, the only biokinetic of the department, understood her garble and gasped, "Dredd was your field assessment Judge? Dredd?!" His eyes slid from blue to orange unconsciously.

"Yes?"

"Holy shit!" repeated Michem. She could feel their opinions changing, and felt their curiosity and the general thought, 'What did she do for Dredd to pass her?' Most imagined heroics and amazing combat skills, but Fendley had one dirty thought after the other as an explanation.

"Listen, guys. I have at least 8000 more words to write before I can head home to crash..." She let the sentence hang as she turned her body toward her computer.

"Sure," said Michem. I've got my own to write," she sighed she led the group back to work.

Anderson was already planning the rest of her day. Finish work, home, shower, sleep, rebuild her mental shields, sleep, dress, eat, head back to Hall of Justice level 13 by 1700. Outside of her career there was little else important her life.

And she was actually pretty happy with that, she thought as she shut down her station. She waved goodbye to her friends and colleagues. She allowed herself a satisfied smile as she remembered that she'd have to meet Dredd later.

AN: 8/30/14. Not mine. Don't sue. This fic's based on the 2012 movie (which I only first watched last weekend) and, while I've done a little bit of research, doesn't take into account the original comic and books. Liked it? Hated it? Kinda had so-so feelings about it? Review please!


	2. Chapter 2

**Somnium**

Ch.2 - Hora Somni

While it looked dead outside, the pleasure house teemed with activity inside. The building was once the residence of an eccentric billionaire - a remnant of the old world. It might have been beautiful once, the bones were still there, but had fallen to disrepair. Ancient paint and wallpaper chipped and peeled off the walls. The floor may have once been carpeted but it was hard to tell beneath the grime. Looters, squatters, and eventually pimps took over the residence, making it their own. Rooms had been built inside rooms and staircases built that went no where. Most of the 'customers' never ventured further than the first floor for fear of getting lost in the creepy, old house.

Judges Dredd and Anderson entered through a side door, Lawgivers raised and on silencers. As they were spotted, a few costumed girls and a lot of men scattered away like roaches when the kitchen light turned on.

Their plan was deceptively simple. Find and apprehend the head of the trafficking ring for further interrogation and later incarceration. A handful of the Judges from S.20 waited at the other exits to catch the fleeing guilty. Intel suggested that he would be deep inside the decaying maze of rooms of the old house.

The two Judges picked their way carefully through the least populated areas of the building, clearing rooms one by one until they reached a randomly placed spiral staircase in the center most room of the third floor. Dredd looked to her and she took the cue to read the room above.

The large space came into focus and she sensed more people than they had anticipated. The yellow hum of pain and terror and also anticipation, excitement, and greed buzzed off of the group above. "Twenty five men, one of them is the head of the trafficking operation. One is just there to watch. They're in the middle of auctioning off new girls. Eleven females." She focused in again, to get a better lay of the room. "Ugh. Seven of the girls are under 15. They've all been kidnapped."

Dredd growled in disgust.

She couldn't have agreed more. She felt ready to charge up there and execute every pervert on the spot. But- Priorities. "The boss is wearing his favorite hat. It's green. He'll be at our nine o'clock when we went enter, ten meters in. The men at our twelve, girls at our three. Large single room spanning approximately the entire length of the house. Two ped tunnels connected to neighboring buildings and one hidden door as points of possible escape."

"Calling it in." He wanted those men to face their deserved punishment. Dredd spoke the pertinent information into his comm, trusting her abilities completely."Boss first, the rest next," he muttered to her.

Anderson nodded in agreement. Her blonde curls remained neatly in place. He frowned. Not wearing her helmet again. If he made it fast there wouldn't even be an opportunity for her to get wounded.

"Switching to rapid-fire."

She did the same. A clear determination stole over her. The cold calm in her eyes told him her answer, but he asked anyway.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

The quietly ascended the stairs, Dredd taking point. At the top landing they were barred entry by a secure, three inch steel door with a tri-point security system. The code she could have accessed, but the voice and retina scans were obviously out. Anderson attached her grenade to the door before Dredd got his off his belt.

At his frown she merely grinned. So he added his explosive next to hers. They ducked against the wall.

When the door imploded, sending shrapnel into the lofty space, the Judges stormed the room. Above the sound of this gunfire, there were screams and shouts, firearms being drawn, and somewhere in the melee Dredd heard Anderson yell, "Stun!" A man in a green bowler hat went flying. "Rapid fire!" she shouted, and downed a perp who had Dredd in his line of sight. He, meanwhile, was busy. Nearly every man in the room had their barrels aimed at them. Whoever had his gun aimed at them were guilty. He took them out shot by shot.

One man desperately broke away from the group and grabbed a screaming girl, the smallest, dragging her toward a door. The others had scrabbled against a wall in a terrified clump of humanity. Most of the men were dead or incapacitated on the ground. Three stood with their hands above their heads having never raised a gun to the Judges. Anderson ran after the perp.

Dredd cuffed the five men still alive and turned to the girls and said, "Stay here." He followed Anderson, but stayed out of sight.

"-back, bitch!" The perp must have taken a wrong turn because the three of them stood in a dead end walkway.

"Let the hostage go and you can live," Anderson cajoled, voice low and cool. Her Lawgiver was at her side, opposite arm outstretched in supplication. "There's no need for this to get any messier."

The perp had that manic glint in his eye that Dredd knew meant trouble. The girl was trembling in her rags, the perp's gun pointed up at under her chin. "Please. Please... Please," she sobbed.

"So I can spend the rest of my life in a cube? No fucking way!" He cocked the gun. "You let me leave and she lives."

"Last chance," Anderson said as if she hadn't heard him, lifting her weapon. Dredd raised his gun and took aim.

"Fuck. You." The perp's voice shook, but he squeezed the trigger.

Then he was on the ground, bullet in his head. The girl collapsed beside him. Anderson was immediately at the her side, Dredd following to ensure the perp was down for good. The sound of two gunshots still ringing their ears, Anderson reached for Dredd's hand and placed it on the girls throat. "Pressure," she muttered as she reached for her med kit, fumbling for a tool, any tool, that could make it better.

The girl was bleeding out and Dredd knew there wasn't much they could do. The perp's gun had shifted when he fell and though the girl wasn't dead, she soon would be. She seized Anderson's hand, and shook her head. Blood bubbled from the girl's lips as she gazed consolingly at Anderson's stricken face. It seemed to Dredd that the girl knew she'd reached her end.

Then she was gone.

Anderson was shaking, kneeling in a growing pool of blood that hadn't been there just a minute ago. Dredd stood and pulled her up. "Job's not done yet."

"I- " she huffed out a deep breath. "You're right." Together they marched back to the main room. She called it in. "Central. I've got 22 for rysk, 1 for interrogation, and 4 for the cubes at my GPS, as well as 10 uninjured vics for processing and release." She walked toward the victims and began talking them through what would happen to them.

"Copy, Anderson. Meat wagon and transport are on their way."

Meanwhile, Dredd hauled the boss up off the floor, stepping on the green hat. "That's my best hat!" he cried in outrage.

"Shut up," Dredd growled. "You have an appointment with interrogation and it doesn't require formal wear."

"Anderson?" One of the other cuffed perps stood from the shadows into the light and smiled. "Cassandra Anderson?"

Both Judges lifted their eyes to the well dressed man. He was middle aged, clean shaven, and raised every hair on the back of Dredd's neck.

"By golly! I knew we'd meet but I didn't think it'd be so soon!" The man laughed delightedly, walked toward Anderson and opened his arms as if to hug her, cuffs simply gone.

She immediately aimed her gun at him. Dredd was a step ahead of her and fired a shot. The man stepped cleanly out of the way, waving his hands and the bullet just... stopped. And clattered to the ground.

The man frowned. "Gosh! That was mighty rude, mister." He sounded like he was chastising a child. "I only wanted to say hello!" He flicked his fingers and this time Dredd went flying hard against the opposite wall with a sickening crack.

He groaned, but struggled to his feet, Lawgiver aimed again at the man who was now laughing.

"Ah, you must be Judge Dredd! Wait-wait." He puffed himself up and growled, "'I am the law!' Ahahaha!" He slapped his knee and giggled.

"Who the fuck are you?" Anderson snapped.

Suddenly, he stood right in front if her. He grabbed her by her neck and lifted her easily off the floor. "Now, now little lady," he murmured. Her fingers scrabbled at his vice like hand as lack of oxygen quickly became an issue. "No need for bad language. I know you've only heard of me recently, but I've been around for a long time."

Anderson glared at him, blood pounding in her ears, and focused.

She hit a solid, impenetrable wall made of steel and kevlar. The feeling rebounding back was like the vibrations of a gong. Still he dropped her.

"Ah ah ah. No peeking or you won't get to keep your present!" he giggled as she coughed and wheezed. "Well, folks. It was lovely to meet you, but I have to run." He checked his watch. "I have an interview with some arms dealers that I simply can't be late for! Be seeing you soon!" He winked at Dredd and Anderson, then waggled his fingers at the other people in the room and simply walked away. Dredd made to run after him, but it felt as though his feet were magnetized to the floor. By Anderson's struggling, he could tell she was stuck as well. He tried his comm, but it was dead.

Some of the older girls tentatively stood up and tried to help the Judges. Minutes later, their comms came back to life and their boots unstuck themselves. Dredd fell heavily to the floor.

Anderson moved to help Dredd, but he waved her away. "I got it." He regained his footing. "Who the fuck was that?" he grumbled to himself.

She looked thoughtfully in the direction of the perp's escape. "The Bad Man," she mumbled.

* * *

A few hours later, Dredd made his way to the garage in the Hall of Justice. They had completed their reports at their own desks, but she agreed to meet him before going home. As he walked through the building, the man with the inexplicable powers weighed heavily on his mind. A mutant. A powerful one. Why hadn't he heard of this guy before?

Dredd found Anderson sitting side saddle on her Lawmaster, helmet in her lap, staring into nothing. He eyed the dark bruises on her neck and jaw. She hadn't been to medical, but he didn't mention it. "That creep still on your mind?"

She blinked. "No," she said, almost too quietly to hear.

"The girl?"

"Yeah." Her voice cracked. "I saw it. When she touched me. I saw it all." Dredd fixed his eyes on her sad face through the visor of his helmet. "Her life was too short. She was 13. Her name was Malory. She lived in MegNoth with her mother. She sang in her school choir, the sweetest voice you ever heard. And she had just had her first kiss last week."

He was silent for a moment. "You can't save everyone, Anderson. Believe me."

"I know." She smiled a sad kind of smile, then looked again into nothingness. "She was happy, you know. Grateful that she wasn't sold off. That we could stop it before it happened."

He didn't reply.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this."

His frown deepened. "That's a stupid thing to say."

"It's not," she argued. "I get too close. Every person that I can't help, they stay with me."

"What about the people you do help? Ten of those girls are home with their families tonight. Do you think that's nothing?"

At first she didn't have an answer. "No," she eventually said. She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You're right."

"Yeah," he said, and it sounded like, 'No shit.'

"Do you think I should even be a Judge?" She hadn't meant to ask, but she needed the reassurance.

"You wouldn't be wearing the uniform if I didn't," he replied without skipping a beat.

Anderson seemed to study what she could see of his face. This time when she smiled, it lit her whole face.

"C'mon, Anderson. We're not on duty. I'll buy you a drink." He mounted his Lawmaster, parked next to hers.

"Okay," she said, placing her helmet on and turning so she was seated correctly on her bike. "Bender claims that McTavish's has the best filtered water since before the Atlantic was black."

"McTavish's it is."

As they rode out of the garage, Michem and Fendley were returning. Anderson gave them a wave. Michem, recognizing her friend, mimed a phone call to say, "Call me!" and waved back.

That was the last anyone saw of Psi-Judge Anderson and Dredd for a year.

AN: Still not mine. Obviously un-betaed. Did you like it? There are a few references to my favorite shows and books. Can you find them?


	3. Chapter 3

**Somnium**

Ch. 3 - Prima Facie

Mega City One 2103 Spring (April)

She had been having strange dreams off and on for 3 months. Most of them were flashes of sensory details - the scent of leather and exhaust, the piercing sound of sirens and the low rumble of an engine, the comfortable feel of large gun in her hands, or the taste of blood in her mouth. And voices (always voices) like there were a thousand people muttering to themselves in colors and shapes inside of her head. Sometimes she dreamt of watching two empty hospital beds, smothered by crushing longing and loneliness. Other times she dreamt of riding determinedly through the city on a motorcycle toward some kind of target. Once she dreamt of sitting at a desk, so young her feet swung back and forth beneath her, unable to reach the ground yet - all she was doing in that dream was looking at a severe looking woman in black and answering questions, occasionally picking out the answer from the air as it floated to her from the woman.

However, this dream, by far, was the strangest.

_In her dream, she half stood and half leaned against the wall of an elevator traveling down 200 floors. She was in a Judge's uniform, minus the helmet, and the Judge with his helmet on in front of her had zipped open her flak vest and tugged up her shirt. She'd almost felt a surge of attraction, except it turned into outright agony. The pain was nearly enough to make her pass out, so she focused on the half covered face of the man who was silently patching her together with medical grade foam and insta-sutures. He was frowning down at her wound when he felt her eyes on him. He turned his head to meet her gaze. For a moment she thought she saw him smile, but it was odd... straight white teeth overlapping his downturned mouth like a double exposed old fashioned film photograph._

Kenna's eyes snapped open. Her heart was racing and a sheen of sweat covered her from head to toe. She felt like she might be sick so she stumbled out of bed and into her tiny bathroom. She really hated dreaming. Every time she had a dream she spent the morning shaking and sick. The rest of the day was plagued by the annoying, niggling feeling as though she'd forgotten something important. By evening, her head always pounded as though part of her brain was trying to escape her skull. It was a close thing, but she managed to settle her nausea by splashing her face with cold water.

She looked into the mirror to see that she had bags beneath her brown eyes and her medium length blond waves were more of a rats nest. Pressure slowly building behind her eyes promised to be a crippling headache later. She grimaced and set to work getting ready school. It was her last day subbing in Sector 246 for a Mrs. Johnson.

Before Mrs. Johnson, Kenna had substituted for Mr. Tamura in S.289, and before that Ms. Perry in S.253. There was a lot of need for short term substitute teachers, but most wanted to stay in their block or sector. A long term (1 month plus) substitute position in a random sector was more likely to be left unfilled than as not.

On a whim, Kenna Mueller had quit her block school in MegCentral to go where she was needed. Old Ms. Perry had fallen down a set of steep steps in the Oliviath block, breaking her leg in eight places and on bed rest until her medic cleared her. This left her class of thirty-two students ages twelve to seventeen without a teacher unless a substitute stepped in.

Pay was strictly controlled citywide so the credits offered weren't any higher than a typical sub position. Long term subs would have to find a place to rent month to month, a rarity in MC1, and would have to be ready to uproot themselves whenever the original teacher returned. With more drawbacks than incentives, only one or two people applied to longer positions.

Ms. Perry's kids would have been running wild in the city block if no one stepped. They were a rough and mischievous bunch, so much so that Kenna almost felt like it was her first time teaching during the weeks that followed her arrival. But at their hearts, they all wanted to learn. They all craved knowledge and she gave them her all. By the time she left them, there were tears and Ms. Mueller had to promise to visit, to see the older kids graduate, to teach their little brothers or sisters that science experiment with milk and soap and food coloring. When Kenna settled into her next sub job, Ms. Perry sent a sweet letter signed by all the kids and a booklet of original paintings they made for her.

Mr. Tamura had cancer and was undergoing treatments that left him weak and irritable. He didn't like Kenna at first, but, again, she was the only person who applied. His kids were younger- the youngest ten, oldest thirteen, but the class had thirty-six students of varying temperaments and abilities. She managed to win them all over by starting an after school self-defense club (theirs was a dangerous sector).

Mrs. Johnson's class was her favorite so far. Twenty-three kids ages six to eight. Old enough to read, but still cute. After getting dressed and grabbing a bite to eat, she made her way toward the school, walking to the third level of a repurposed mall. There she found Mrs. Johnson with her baby boy and a going away cake from all the little ones. "It's mostly protein, but I tried to make it as chocolatey as possible," smiled Mrs. Johnson.

Kenna's head ached when she waved goodbye to the students that afternoon. It throbbed as she packed a single duffel with the whole of her meager possessions. It felt like part of her brain was trying to escape by pounding against her skull as she boarded the old Sky-rail. She left MegCity North behind, heading for a block in the western part of the city. Sector 164, city block Arickman. She'd managed to find and secure the one month to moth rental in the entire block only three days before.

She arrived at her newly rented hab in the north side of Arickman past midnight, later than she'd intended. Public transport wasn't always reliable when the city shut many transit centers down for work on the new Zoomtube. Exhausted, she unpacked a single outfit and set her phone alarm for the next day. She fell to sleep in yesterday's clothes, phone still in her hand.

* * *

_Kenna dreamt of sitting in a cold, empty room. Her hair felt lighter, shorter maybe. Across from her stood a large plate of mirrored glass, obviously a one way window. She looked down at a crumpled old photo, at what she assumed was her younger self and two adults that were unfamiliar to her. The warm feeling of a good memory swept through her as she toyed with the tattered corners of the photo before folding it away again. The voice of the Chief Judge came over a speaker and asked her questions, asked her to read the other person in the other room._

_She obeyed. Kenna reached out with her mind and the room around her seemed to go slightly out of focus as the person in the other room became sharp in contrast. She gave his mind a light touch, just brushing the surface. The person thought in a straight forward pattern, implying a man. His thoughts felt mostly black and white, with very little gray. Strong sense of right and wrong._

_"Male. Another Judge." Obviously. When the Chief Judge did not comment, she probed a little deeper. Beneath the surface she sensed heat and strain, a boiling red storm held back by an iron wall of will. "I can feel anger and... control." As she said the words she felt something hidden just beyond her reach... "But there's something else. Something... behind the control." Old, but still sharp and painful. A flat, steel blue and double edged. It was like grief or loss or guilt, loneliness and bitterness. "Something almost-" sad._

_"Okay- An-"_

* * *

An obnoxiously cheerful musical tone pulled her from her deep sleep and into full alert with a jolt. She slammed her hand on the offending tech. The phone had been right beneath her head, so the alarm had been particularly annoying and loud.

"Ugh." An- what? Annie? Andrea? Ant? Hm. She rubbed her face and forced herself to get out of bed and not throw up.

Kenna dressed quickly in a lacy blouse, blue blazer, and a gray skirt and hid her duffel in the oven. Until she had a chance to install her own locks, better safe than sorry. She grabbed her purse and slipped on her most comfortable heels.

On her way to the school level she noticed that the block map spanned the entire front face of the elevator. She ran the list of levels to remember in her head. Level 50 for the school, Level 28 for her apartment, level 30 for the med center, Levels 5, 25, 45 ,65, 85,125, and 145 for food and rec.

At level 50 she exited the elevator and walked down a deserted hallway. Too early for other adults and way too early for kids. Surprisingly, the halls were clear of graffiti and, in fact, looked freshly painted. She peeked through the window of the classrooms as she walked by. Clean and orderly. Amazing. She'd rarely had any control in her classroom environment as they "belonged" to other teachers. But this? This is how she would have liked for every school she had seen to be like this.

"Wonderful, isn't it, Ms. Mueller?" Asked a voice behind her. She jumped. A light flickered off above him. "Drat. Almost perfect. I'll have utilities come up and fix that for you."

"Thank you... I'm sorry, who are you?"

"My apologies. I'm Tom, the manager of this building. I'm here to give you your key."

He stepped into the light. He looked like your average upper-middle class man. Well groomed, mustachioed, decent clothes, possibly early thirties. Neatly styled black hair, dark eyes, and a sense that he was from another region of the city, or even foreign. Maybe it was the accent. When she realized she was visually patting him down for weapons she snapped her eyes to his.

He smiled at her, confident in his appeal, while inside Kenna squirmed uncomfortably at the oiliness of the man. Still, she smiled back. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she lied.

"I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Now," he clapped his hands. I must show you which is to be your classroom." Tom crisply about faced and sauntered down the hallway, producing a ring of metal keys. "Here we are. School room number 7. I believe Mr. Buckle left his lesson plans on his desk." He removed a key, unlocked the door, then handed the key to her.

She touched the light switch and her eyes fell upon a clean, rectangular room with evenly spaced groupings of tiny wooden desks with tiny orange chairs and one large desk and chair at the front near a whiteboard. The walls were painted a calming blue and the tile floors were light green. Hanging from the ceiling were papier mâché Earths mostly painted brown and orange and grey. When had she ever seen a classroom like this? Probably in a movie.

"Wow."

Tom hummed a happy little sound. "I drafted the unemployed parents to fix up these rooms last year. I must say that having the families work for it has helped keep vandalism down on this level."

Kenna stepped to the teacher's desk and the lesson plan book. She noted a little photo of a class standing with Mr. Hickle in front of boxes and boxes of green leafy plants. "That is Mr. Hickle's pet project. He calls it The Green. A portion of the roof is reserved for his class's experiments at growing edible vegetation."

"And these kids are all under ten years old?"

"That's right. I'm sorry to say that we have no idea when he may be back. His mother is ill, you see. She lives in Central and he's the only family she has left. He truly is one of the better teachers I've come across in all my years managing blocks."

Kenna nodded and flipped through the lesson plan book thoughtfully.

"You make yourself at home. Classes begin at 9:00. That's in," he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Two hours."

She was already engrossed in the detailed lesson plans and didn't hear Tom's goodbye.

At 0800 she began gathering the days supplies, setting up learning centers around the room, and writing information on the board. By the time 0900 rolled around she was ready, but her headache from yesterday seemed to have doubled since waking from another dream. First day jitters were no help. So, when someone knocked on the door, she jumped violently. She had to laugh at herself a little.

The classroom door cracked open to reveal a smiling, young Hispanic woman in a long, flowery skirt and a black blouse. "Hello. You must be Hickle's sub. I'm Jeannie Monroe." She put out her hand. "I teach 3rd across the hall."

"Kenna Mueller. Nice to meet you," she said, shaking Jeannie's hand.

"I know it's you're first day, but you don't have to be nervous about the teachers. We have a really solid team this year. I'm in room 6. So, if you need anything during the day just send over Lijah with a note. He's the most helpful in your class. We'll have lunch and I'll introduce you to the rest of us."

"Thanks." Kenna smiled.

"See you at 12:00!" Jeannie glided out the door, the noise of children saying good bye to their parents and hellos to their friends punctuated the quiet of the classroom as she closed the door behind her. Kenna took a deep breath, trying to center her self.

A soft chime signaled the start of school and she opened the door.

* * *

The students took to her teaching style and the other teachers seemed to be genuinely nice. Jeannie especially went out of her way to be welcoming.

At her half-hour long lunch, the teachers told her that Arickman had only recently become what she saw today. Just a year before, unemployment was at 93%, but it was now 75%. Most kids used to stop showing up to school after 4th grade, but now the upper grades were always present. They attributed this turn around to Tom, the new manager, who had implemented an attendance reward program that the whole block was involved in. Kenna was impressed, but a little confused. Block managers usually oversaw things like the cleaning robots and the retail and rec levels. She said so to the other teachers, but they just told her that Tom was unusually dedicated to his block. Kenna didn't think on it much more than that.

It was twenty minutes until dismissal and the children were quietly completing a short quiz. She walked around the students' desks, hands behind her back, monitoring their work. "Sasha, eyes," she said, reminding a little girl to keep her eyes on her own work.

The day had run smoothly so far. True to Jeannie's word, Lijah was a big help. He showed her where holo-vid switch was and helped pass out homework assignments. The students followed directions well and were eager to please their new teacher.

Kenna knew the honeymoon phase would only last a few days before their true personalities, strengths and weaknesses, would all come out to play, but she was grateful for their good behavior anyway. The persistently growing pressure pounding in her head was the only blemish on an otherwise wonderful first day.

She stopped in the middle of the room and paused to rub her temples when the tension seemed almost too much to bear. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Just fifteen minutes until the end of the day. Fifteen minutes until she could shut the lights off and lay her head on the teacher's desk.

Her timer beeped softly. "Alright, boys and girls, time's up, pencils down,"she called out. "That means you, too, Rakim." She smiled at the boy who was sneaking in one more answer. "When I collect your papers you may take out your- uh." The world seemed to violently sway quite suddenly and she blindly reached out for the edge of a student's desk. She thought she heard loud whispering but when she looked up, all eyes were on her and every child was quiet. "You may take out your..." Little white flecks were floating on edge of her vision. She tried blinking them away.

"Are you okay, Ms. Mueller?" asked the girl whose desk she gripped.

"I- I don't know. Lijah. Lijah?"

"Yah, Ms. Mueller?" the boy's chair scraped across the tile as he rose to go to her. The room began to spin and the little white spots were gaining in number.

"Go get Ms. Monroe from across the hall, please," she gasped. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead and she felt she might break the edge of the desk off for how hard she gripped it. "Tell her that I think I need to go to the med center." Just as she said this, the pressure almost seemed to finally crack her skull. The pain vanished completely, only to instantly be replaced by an overwhelming thundering of voices. She saw the room tilt as the voices crashed around her and a maelstrom of colors replaced her sight before it all went black.

And then...

_There was only a single voice. "Move!"_

_The walls were exploding around her. She was running, then hurling herself through the air. She landed hard, but she stumbled to her feet and aimed her gun at the strangers around her. She became aware that they were a non-threat the same time as the other Judge, and she lowered her weapon when he did. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she sucked in deep lungfuls of fresh, unrecycled air._

_They stood on an a cement platform, an outcrop of the mega block they'd just escaped from. Two jerry rigged lamps lit up the half pipe. At first all she could see was the smoking hole they'd fallen out of, the bright graffiti, and the teenagers. They were crowded together in groups, some clutching skateboards, all of them filled with thick, sticky fear._

_"Comms are back on." The other Judge's tone only betrayed the smallest amount of the relief that poured out of him. "Control. Do you copy?"_

_"Affirmative," a tinny voice replied._

_She looked up. It was a cold night. Above the layer of pollution, the city lights and the letters naming the nearby mega blocks shone brightly like multicolored jewels. She squinted. Above the lights we're actual stars._

_"10-24 on my GPS. Request immediate assistance."_

_It was surprisingly quiet up there, she thought. As though the traffic and noise of city life couldn't reach them._

_"Copy, 10-24. Judges under fire," said the cool voice tethering them to any kind of help. "Showing your location as Peach Trees. Sector 13. Confirm?"_

_"Confirm. Be advised, blast door defenses have been triggered."_

_She'd never stopped to take the city in when she had the chance. She had never paused to look up at the lights or appreciate how good the crisp night air felt on her face._

_"Can you hold your current GPS?" asked the voice._

_Could they? There was a beat of silence as she turned to face him and he looked up at her. "Negative," he said into the comm, but she knew he was speaking to her. "If they come for us, we got nowhere to go." Her heart dropped to her feet as she realized he was right._

_She didn't hear everything the tinny voice said, only, "- stay alive." She watched her partner's grimace, the stubble on his chin, and his battle scarred helmet. Would they survive?_

_"We gotta go back in."_

"What?"

She was on her back on a stiff bed. Where was she? The lights were too bright so she kept them shut. The roar of voices was gone from before and she sighed. Everything smelled like antiseptic.

"We gotta get you sitting up to take this pill," he repeated. It was a familiar voice. The gravelly voice she could trust. "C'mon. I'll help." She felt large hands behind her shoulders and back guiding her into a sitting position.

She cracked her eyelids just a enough to see a stubborn jaw, a frowning mouth, and the collar of a medic's uniform. Hm. Not a Judge.

"Good," he murmured as she managed to stay upright. "This,"he placed a large pill in her hand, "is to speed up your body's healing process. It'll make you sleep for a few hours while it does its work. And this," he placed a small cup in her other hand, "is water. Drink up."

She did as he said without question. When the water and the pill were gone she tried to focus her eyes on the rest of the man's face, but was already starting to drift away. He helped her lie back again. "Will you be here when I'm sleeping?" she asked, voice raspy and quiet. She didn't want to be alone.

"Yeah," he rumbled nearby.

"That's good."

She could hear the slide of a drawer opening and heard him rifling through its contents.

"Could you wake me? If I have another dream?" she was whispering now. When he didn't answer, she whispered again, "Please?"

"Yeah."

AN: Ah! That was a longer chapter than I intended. Whaddya think?

Although I didn't spell it out anywhere, I think you already have an idea of what's happened to our two favorite Judges.

Please, please review! Just a word or two makes my day all bright and shiny! (Thanks to my 3 reviewers :D You're awesome!) Again, no beta... so if you catch a typo, it's cool if you wanna point it out. Look for the next chapter next weekend. ~lovelielove

AN 2.0: Went through the first three chapters and tried to fix those annoying typos and inconsistencies. If you're wondering, "Who the hell is Kenna Mueller? WTH?" Don't worry. All will be revealed in due time my lovelies! Thanks again to the two of you who reviewed :) You're the bestest best reviewers evar!


	4. Chapter 4

**Somnium**

Ch. 4 - Sic Parvis Magna

_"I like to give presents to special people, Cassandra." The man smiled broadly as a dark and dingy room came into focus. "And boy, oh, boy. Are you special," he said with relish._

_She tried to reach for her weapon, but found her hands didn't move. She struggled against the ropes that bound her to a hard backed chair. One of her legs was useless, broken badly , but thankfully numb. A bright white pain across her cheek and jaw told her she'd been struck hard before she lost consciousness. She tasted blood. A gag cut into the corners of her mouth and her chest heaved with panicked breaths. _

_Her captor kept on grinning, staring at her like he'd never seen anything quite like her before. "You're a mutant. A psychic, sure. That's kinda special. But out there in the city," he shrugged and shook his head, "they're more common than most folks know. Yes, you're even more than a little bit powerful. Heck, you're raw ability might even surpass mine altogether. But that's not what makes you special."_

_A glint of bronze eyes drew her eyes to the opposite end of the room. Slumped face down on the floor lay a fallen Judge, his limbs sprawled out and beneath him at awkward angles. Her struggles stilled as a distressed cry escaped her through the gag. The foundation of her world shook and panic gripped her at seeing his hair, short and brown and smashed flat by a helmet- the empty black and red object that lay upside down and several meters away from him. _

_The man stepped in her line of sight. "Oh, your buddy's fine," he scoffed, unconcerned. "He just fell and hit his head." He chuckled. "Well, no. I dropped him and hit his head a few dozen times." _

_Overwhelming fury blinded her and, growling with rage, she lunged for the laughing criminal. Her entire body wanted to reach out and strangle him until that manic smile slipped from his face. The chair jerked forward a foot, nearly toppling her over, jarring her broken leg badly but the ties held._

_"Oh ho ho! No... The reason your'e special," he leaned in close, eyes locked to hers, "is because you could have been so much more, and yet you chose this." He gestured to the eagle on her shoulder. "You chose to serve a crumbling justice system and voluntarily dampen your power, your potential, and shut it up into a little box, fighting a fight that you will never win." A sharp pinch behind her eyes was all the warning she received before he invaded her mind. _

_"I always win," he grasped the hair at the back of her head and violently tilted her face up. She cried out loudly._

_"No, no, no," he soothed. "Don't struggle. I know you're tired. I know. And this is my gift to you, little lady. I'll even hide away your psi skills so they don't bother you."_

_He chuckled to himself. "I suppose that it's a gift for me too! A shiny new life. You need a shiny new name, too. Kenna's pretty, don't you think?" He didn't let her answer as she tried to shake him off._

_He placed one hand over her face, blocking her airways, fingertips pressed tightly against her the edges of her face. His hand felt like ice and a cold presence seeped deep into her skull. Her heart pounded wildly and tears of helplessness and desperation leaked from the corners of her eyes. She tried to shout, to say that he couldn't do this. She wanted help, wanted Dredd to wake up and take the bastard out, wanted Michem or Fendley or anyone to come in and stop him. She fought to push his mind out, to escape her ties, to get to Dredd, but his will was like a battering ram against her mind and and she shattered. Every piece of herself broke apart like shards of glass. He sifted through the wreckage and picked and chose what he wanted to keep._

_"Don't worry," he whispered through gritted teeth, beads of sweat forming and rolling down his face. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. And your friend there? Why, he shines almost as bright as you. He deserves a present, too."_

_Fear strangled her, she couldn't get her breath. As the edges of her vision began to fade to black and chunks of her thoughts and memories were cast out and replaced, the man staggered back, looking completely drained and gray in the face. Her thoughts were scattered and disjointed, but she knew the man in front of her was no man. He was a monster. And he had just done something terrible to her. The last thing she saw was his expression, that cold, smug smile. A terrified scream was torn from her chest._

* * *

The scream burned past her dry throat and hysteria choked her as she clawed at ropes that weren't there, kicked out against the man trying to hold her down. It was dark and there were too many shadows to get a good read on where she could be.

As if the world had been on mute, sound rushed back, too foreign and loud - soft, rapid beeping noises and the jarring crash of a metal tray and whatever it once held crashing to the floor. "-alm down! Hey, hey!" A rough voice commanded nearby. Large, gloved, hands pinned her shoulder against a bed. "Wake up!"

She sobbed. Oh god, oh god! What happened? Her eyes frantically cast about the room. Where was she? Her shaky breathing halted completely with relief when she realized she wasn't in that dark room where... something bad happened? What was it that had happened?

"Breathe," he reminded her.

Kenna gasped and breathed deep. She tried to grasp the dream, to remember the names she knew she heard and the faces she knew she saw, but it slipped through her fingers like smoke.

"Lights!" The voice called out, and they flickered on obediently. "You better now?"

She was in a medical room on the last bed of a long row of sterile, empty beds, their privacy curtains pulled back and away. Metal wire shelves stood lining the opposite wall. They were filled with what seemed to be medical supplies that she recognized. It seemed too quiet for the emergency station... But it was secure, safe. Her heart rate began to slow and that mysterious beeping sound slowed, too.

As she sat up, she felt a pull on the inside of her wrist. Stuck to her ski was a single, paper thin sensor. "Where am I?" She grimaced. Her mouth tasted like the business end of a garbage bot.

The scowling man in the medic uniform handed her a tiny cup of water. "Recovery room."

She took the cup gratefully and drank its contents, swishing the foul taste away. "Thank you. I don't- what happened?"

"You had a stroke," the medic said bluntly.

"Stroke?" she repeated lowly, disbelievingly, her eyes fixed on the man's

"Ischemic. Fairly common. An embolism."

"Embolism?"

"Yeah." He eyed her warily and his eyes flicked to the origin of the beeping noise. "When you fainted this afternoon, your coworkers called the paramedics. You were brought here, to the med center, where you were treated."

"Treated?"

"A convenient little drug that breaks the clot apart so your brain can start functioning again. You woke for a minute and you were able to take a supplement that gets your tissue back to normal."

"Normal?"

Concerned, he hesitated, a tiny pause before continuing. "Yeah. You feeling alright? Scans indicated no brain damage. Do you know your name?" He asked this in complete seriousness and she snapped out of her appalled surprise.

"Just a bit shocked I guess." She blinked. "Thank you. For fixing me. Kenna Mueller." She extended her hand in greeting.

At first, he glanced at her hand as if he had never seen such a gesture, but he firmly shook her hand. "Dominic Harris," he replied. "Other medics helped, too."

Kenna smiled at him. "Ok. Nice to meet you, Dominic. Did I hurt you at all?"

"Not a scratch."

"That's good. Sometimes it takes me a few minutes to get my bearings after a bad dream."

"Looked like a nightmare to me," he muttered. He scanned a screen next to the bed showing her vitals and other pertinent data. He seemed satisfied with what he saw. "You now have a clean bill of health. You can leave once you've filled out these forms and the bill will be sent to your address." He passed her a thin tablet that had been sitting on a shelf against the wall.

She accepted it and placed it in her lap when a thought occurred to her. "Huh." A curious expression crossed her features.

He wondered what she had realized and it showed on his face, eyebrow raised and a corner of his mouth downturned.

"I've had headaches for a while," she explained seeing his look. "But, they've gotten worse over the past few days. I've had strange dreams lately too. Does it have anything to do with the stroke?"

"Hm. Probably not."

"Oh." She looked so crestfallen, he felt compelled to elaborate.

"Embolic strokes come on suddenly. A sudden headache, not recurring headaches are more typical."*

She seemed puzzled. "Is there a possible cause for my headaches?"

He looked at the screen again, tapped a few points on it, and turned it toward her. "None that our machines could pick up." She watched the blip of light going up and down displaying her heart beat and saw a silhouette of herself lit in bright green. "All the body's systems are healthy including muscular, cardiovascular, and nervous systems. No cancers, infections, diseases, or disorders. Reasonably all nourished and hydrated. No plaque in your veins, so the clot that caused your stroke was large. There's evidence of a bad break in your left leg that was healed sloppily. Probably the cause of today's episode."*

She looked at the screen. All that was on there?

"Harris!" Another man in a paramedic uniform "leaned into the doorway of the recovery room. "Chief needs you in the emergency station."

"On my way." He tapped the tablet in her lap and addressed her. Get this done before you leave." He walked to a nearby trash bin and peeled off his white gloves. "I'll make a note about recurring headaches in your file. You have another one after today, make a appointment with the med clinic." When he said the last part, he was nearly out the door.

"Thank you," she called, but he was already gone.

Kenna spent the next fifteen minutes on the tablet using a stylus to fill out a detailed family history, medical history, and address information (none, some, and new). As she set the tablet back into its original shelf,  
a surprising new memory floated to the surface. And it filled her with an unfamiliar warmth.

_"Will you be here while I'm sleeping?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"That's good... Could you wake me? If I have another dream? ...Please?"_

_"... Yeah."_

* * *

AN: The standard disclaimers apply. I decided to name my chapters today. Not sure why I chose Latin. I guess it sounds pretty fancy?  
ex lege = the law  
hora somni = the hour of sleep  
prima facie = on the face of it  
sic parvis magna = greatness from small beginnings

Please tell me that you know who Kenna is now. She's not an OC. She's the main character! Dun dun dun! (Maybe it was badly done? I can't tell anymore. I've read and revised these 4 chapters around 50 times!)

A single review makes me smile for a day. A few more make me smile for a week. Please review! Pretty please! I see you out there. Reading and not reviewing. Yah, you! Right there, just a short scroll down, is the review button... It's sooo easy! ;p

(*Also, do NOT take any of the stroke or clot info seriously, please! Some of its kinda true, some I just made up. I am not any kind of medical professional. I couldn't figure out whether or not it was even possible that a clot developed from a leg injury could bypass the lungs go straight to brain type arteries?)

I have a very hard time not typing out Anderson's mind reading as "legiljmency." And I typed "occlude" twice! Damn you Harry Potter! You've ruined me for life!

Thus ends one of the longest author's notes ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Somnium**

Ch. 5 - Secundus Facie

In a building far from Arickman, many sectors away, two men conversed quietly, one nervous and younger, the other going white at the temples. The middle aged man in the sharp, gray suit smiled eerily at the younger man standing before him. "Thank you, son. You've just been so darn helpful. If I didn't know better I'd say someone was angling for a promotion," he teased.

"Er. No, sir." Tom wrung his hands together nervously. "Thank you, sir," he said, trembling from head to toe. "Was there..." he had to pause to clear his throat, "Was there anything else I might do for you, sir?"

His employer sat down behind a very old, ornate desk. He placed his elbows on the arms of a spindly chair while he steepled his fingers beneath his chin as if in prayer. "Just sit back. You've done your part getting rid if the extra teacher. I'll do the rest."

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, Tom! Stop calling me sir! You're making me feel old. I'll call when you're needed."

"Yes, s- ah. Yes."

The older man laughed. "And shut the light when you close the door on your way out, please."

Tom did as he was told, his shoulders sagging relief at being dismissed so quickly. He did his best not run out of the building and wondered how the hell he got mixed up with evil on this scale and he wondered what Kenna Mueller had to do with it.

Meanwhile, the older man sat still as death in his chair, staring fixedly into the perfect darkness. Specks of light, just pin pricks really, began to fizz among the shadows. They sparkled, some twinkling weakly, others radiant like a star. After searching for a minute, he chose two of the brightest points of light with a blink of his blue eyes.

The lights expanded into two displays like ghosts of a projection in midair. In one vision a young blond teacher smiled at something her raven haired friend said. In the other, a tall, surly looking paramedic ran a scanner over a patient's right leg.

The man's eyes flickered between the two live shows. "Ah, Anderson and Dredd," he murmured, grinning tiredly to himself. "How did you like your second meeting?"

* * *

Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine Kenna returned to her hab by 0600 and she already felt well rested and mysteriously headache free. That medic, Dominic Harris, told her that the dreams likely had nothing to do with her stroke, but still... she wondered.

Kenna went back to work the next day. The students had been worried, the teachers even more so. The kids eyed her warily as though she could collapse at any moment and the teachers almost shooed her back home. She stood her ground and told them all that she was fine, that she hadn't paid attention to her body's signals and paid the price. "But Ms. Mueller!" cried Lijah, "what should we do if you faint again?"

"You should do exactly what you did before. I'm very proud of how you a stayed calm," she smiled and said to the class, "and I'm thankful that you got me the help I needed - grown ups who knew what to do. You're my heroes!" The children smiled at each other, pride puffing up their little chests.

The rest of her week and even the week after did not follow the pattern of her first day at Arickman. A fact that she was extremely grateful for. She went to school early every weekday, first teacher in. She went to her classroom that first Saturday to start a new project. She followed Hickle's detailed lessons, though she was fast reaching the end of his plans, and talked shop with Jeannie most days after the students had gone home. When Jeannie found out that she'd gone in during the weekend she was strictly forbidden to so again. "Weekends and breaks are sacred, Kenna! If you really need to? Okay. But if you go in on your off time too much, you'll burn out."

Jeannie tended to talk a mile a minute and was intent on taking Kenna under her wing. They fit well as friends. Kenna was calm and serious where Jeannie was easily excitable and a little ridiculous.

Since meeting Jeannie, Kenna had eaten dinner twice with Jeannie's family, her quiet husband and two year old daughter. Her husband, Sam, teasingly warned Kenna one night at dinner to watch out for Jeannie's matchmaking tendencies. His wife just waved off his warning with laughter.

While Kenna was happy to have someone near her own age that she could relate to, someone to bounce ideas off of, she didn't particularly like Jeannie's attempts at "improving" her love life. Her husband may have been teasing, but he was honest about Jeannie's preoccupation with matchmaking. So far, these attempts were light suggestions an introduction here; an, "Ooh, isn't that guy handsome?" there. Nothing particularly aggressive.

Kenna didn't feel that she needed a boyfriend or husband or whatever Jeannie wanted for her. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time she's desired someone like that. No one had sparked her interest. Jeannie had laughed when she told her this on the way back to their classes after the kids' recess. "You're 22, Kenna! If you haven't felt it yet, it's going to be one hell if a spark when you do!" Jeannie walked into school room six still laughing.

One day at lunch, with absolutely no shame, Jeannie began grilling Kenna on her ideal man, finally pushing her past her limit. What was her preference, blonde, brown or black hair? Eye color? Did she have an age limit? Did she want someone with similar interests? Was she looking for a long term relationship or short term fun?

"Jean!" she yelled, exasperated, causing some of the other teachers at their table to laugh. A number of them had also been put through the matchmaker's rigorous questioning before, too. "I'm not looking for anything right now," she said firmly. "I'm happy with my life the way it is." She smiled to soften the blow. "I have a good job, a decent place to live, and new friends. That's all I need."

"Her friend eyed her skeptically. "Fine," she capitulated. "But, just you wait, Kenna," she warned, one finger pointing at her. "You're going to meet a man that gets under your skin and you'll come crawling back to me for advice on how to catch him."

Kenna smiled, amused. "If I ever need man hunting advice, you can tell me you told me so," she intoned sarcastically.

"I will!" Jeannie promised with a slightly diabolical grin.

* * *

It was her third Sunday in Arickman, mid morning, and she was finally getting around to installing her new locks. Kenna had borrowed tools from Jeannie's husband, Sam, and stood barefoot in the open doorway of her hab, pencil held between her teeth, drilling in new hardware.

It was absurdly warm in the block, especially for spring. She lived in the east quad of her level and it seemed to absorb all of the morning sun's heat. So she corralled her blonde hair into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck. She had very little clothing for such weather, but she found a raggedy pair of denim of shorts to wear along with a baggy, black tank top, forgoing her bras as she was spending the day at home and they were hanging in the shower to dry after a hand wash anyway.

Kenna lined up a metal plate to the hole she had drilled earlier and stuck a screw into it, following the screw with the electric drill bit. Concentrating, she checked the alignment of all parts.

"Mueller," a voice, low and gravelly, said somewhere behind her, surprise only just evident in his tone.

The only indication that she was startled was the tinkle of the screw falling to the floor. She turned her head to look over her shoulder. At first she didn't recognize him out of uniform, but she soon it was that thirty or forty something paramedic from the emergency station.

"Dominic," she said, pencil falling out of her mouth. Slick, she thought to herself. She was truly surprised to see him. Arickman was big enough that she could have gone a year in the block without running into him again.

Looking him over, she noticed he was carrying two grocery bags. He wore a pair of jeans, black boots, and a slim fitting pullover, collar up and cuffs rolled back to the elbows. His dark hair was a mess and he seemed to radiate exhaustion.

He looked disturbingly good.

"Hey." She willed the flush rising to her chest and cheeks to go away.

"Hey," he replied. "Second job?" he inquired, nodding at the tools.

She looked startled, the power tool resting in her hand against her shoulder. He hadn't noticed her as a woman in the med center. He saw her merely as a patient. Now... She could have been a pinup for some working man's calendar and he'd bet every credit he had that she had no idea.

"What? Oh! No, just putting in my own locks." She gestured at some of the shiny new bits she'd already installed.

"Smart."

"Thanks." She bent over to pick up the dropped screw and pencil. When she straightened up he seemed startled. Actually it was kind of hard to tell, because he quickly wiped the expression away, his eyes fixed determinedly on her face.

"You live here?" His voice seemed to have dropped a notch.

"Uh." She looked behind her through the open door into the noticeably spartan studio room, her bed an unmade mess. "Yeah," she answered awkwardly. "Since about three weeks ago."

A moment of awkward silence filled the hall, only broken by the shout of children playing somewhere in the quadrant.

She glanced at his grocery bags and his clothing- casual, heading home. "Do you live on this level, too?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Yeah. Around the corner." He pointed his chin down the hall.

"Oh." The awkwardness was reaching palpable proportions. "Ok..."

"Yeah." He seemed on the verge of saying something more, but decided against it, gaze falling somewhere beyond her head and shoulders.

"Well... It was nice seeing you?" She tried not to make it sound like a question, really she did.

He suddenly met her eyes and said gruffly, "Yeah. You, too." He strode away swiftly down the hall, long limbs swinging efficiently, and disappeared around the nearest corner.

She stared after him. "Huh." So that's what a spark felt like.

* * *

Somewhere in MegWest, in another city block, a solitary man in a gray suit paused in the act of wiping blood from his hands onto a handkerchief. He blinked, eyes focused suddenly far away. Then, he laughed. "What a surprise," he chuckled to himself. "I do believe they're taken with each other." He shook his head saying through a smile, "If you all had been able to surprise me like that, you'd be alive, too," he spoke to the pile of broken bodies of a traitorous gang. "Alas, you criminal types are so predictable." He continued to chuckle, tossed the soiled cloth into the pile, and slowly strolled out of the room, casually side stepping pools of blood.

* * *

Kenna hadn't dreamt, or at least didn't remember any dreams, since waking in the emergency station. That night she had a dream unlike any she'd had before.

_Strong hands sliding across her body in the dark, her breath coming in panting moans, a low voice groaning her name. Lips pressing fervidly across hers, traveling lower. Broad, muscled shoulders beneath her hands. The sweetest, sharpest pleasure she'd ever felt starting at her toes and curling deliciously through the rest of her body, a name at the tip of her tongue while the world faded, and those same strong hands gripped her hips tightly..._

She woke gasping, tangled in her thin blanket. She shut off the alarm and stumbled to the bathroom to splash water across her overheated face. When she looked up and into the mirror she was shocked to see herself, her skin flushed, her eyes dark, and her lips full and red as though she had actually been passionately kissing someone while she slept.

* * *

**AN:** Secundus Facie - at second glance. (not so sure about this particular Latin phrase... is it correct? dunno.)

Another short chapter. However, this chapter was originally very long and very crappy. I split the chapter in two and worked on this half, adding, editing, and deleting. Hope you like it! Next chapter is half done. I only have to go through the same process, plan a Minecraft birthday party for my soon to be 7 year old, meet with my administrator at work for a big review, and I'll be posting this weekend ;) Probably.

Jeannie Monroe is my Molly Weasley. A little annoying, but in a lovable kind of way. She truly means well.

Thank you to Khayr, Grabbag Lapidary, ktarra, and Arienhod for reviewing!

Reviews are welcome and thoroughly appreciated, though not required. They only make me walk around smiling like a doofus for a whole day.

**AN 2.0: **Fixed some typos and some weird html code thing.


End file.
